


Wednesday

by monanotlisa



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Glory Hole, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-13
Updated: 2008-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>For a brief moment John toys with the thought that Rodney just stumbled in when someone else — a soldier, a scientist; who cares — left. It's a very brief moment.</i></p><p>Obviously, I refrained from titling this "the gloryhole fic" or "the fic with Rodney McKay's wonder penis." But you know, it totally is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to [](http://auburnnothenna.livejournal.com/profile)[**auburnnothenna**](http://auburnnothenna.livejournal.com/) & [](http://synecdochic.livejournal.com/profile)[**synecdochic**](http://synecdochic.livejournal.com/)  
> 

_Wow._

John shivers. Definitely the right decision, to come back here the following Wednesday at the same time. To meet the same guy.

His is body is still thrumming with aftershocks, feels light, almost floaty. John gives in and lets himself slide down right where he stands, his back to the wall. He breathes in, out, in again. The metal is chilly against his shoulder blades, his bare ass; no wonder, this used to be a freezer. It feels nice, though, cooling his skin. He takes his hand off his slippery cock and lets his head drop back for just a moment. It's not like he doesn't have to wait, anyway, listening for the rustle on the other side to die down.

When it does, John has enough air in his lungs again. Slowly, he gets to his feet and cleans himself. Just as he pulls his pants up, the main door to the storage room complex whooshes open, then shut again. Okay. A few more tucks and zips, and it's time for him to leave, too.

On legs more wobbly than usual and with an ass that's pretty sore, in a good way, he walks out of the small chamber with the very conveniently shaped hatch. And glances toward the exit.

 _Oh, fuck_. A prickle of heat clears out John's orgasm-addled brain and clears it out good. He's not actually alone in this storage area.

Bye-bye endorphins, hello to no one else but Rodney McKay standing and fidgeting right next to the door sensor.

For a brief moment John toys with the thought that Rodney just stumbled in when someone else—a soldier, a scientist; who cares—left. Because McKay was looking for John, because McKay used his life signs detector. It's a very brief moment, not just because Rodney's hands are empty. This place is carefully chosen for accessibility, but mostly for remoteness. No, this is the man he met here last Wednesday; this is the man for whom he returned.

The realisation is enough make John take an instinctive half-step back. He'd go forward, too, in fact he wants to. Really wants to—out of the door, away. As quick as possible.

But Rodney is already opening his mouth. "I'm just saying," he says, and fuck, now John knows what Rodney sounds like, looks like after sex, all bitten lips and eyes much bluer than usual in a flushed face, "that maybe you shouldn't, uh, be quite so vocal. Not that it's a bad thing, and if you ever want t...but it's really kind of distinctive, your voice, you know? I guess it's possible I just hear it more often—your normal tones, I mean!—but considering your line of work you may want to think about keeping it—"

"McKay." That comes out kinda low and tight, but the message gets across to Rodney, because he does shut up. "I'm not...loud, okay? I know how this works; I don't—" What the hell; he's old enough to do it, he's old enough to talk about it. "I don't do the 'vocal' thing when I get fucked." God help him, he's making air-quotes. Another part of the image down the drain. Not that this particular ship hasn't sailed and isn't halfway to India by now.

Rodney looks a little dubious. More than a little. "But I heard you quite—"

"That was different." That was _you_ , that was you _last week, too._ John doesn't share these thoughts. Rodney's gonna get it in a second or so, anyway, and John really prefers not to praise his fuckbuddies' cocks. Not post-coitus, anyway.

"Oh," Rodney says, right on cue, and John marvels again at all the super-secret government contracts the guy has worked on because damn if he can keep an emotion off his face. Sure, facts are a different thing, and astrophysics aren't quite the same thing as gloryholes, despite Rodney's obvious fondness for both of them. "That's...um. Thanks." Smug and uncomfortable at the same time.

"You're welcome." John would laugh if he didn't think that'd tip him over the edge into helpless braying; the urge is there, though. He also wants to tell Rodney that hey, this isn't something Lt. Colonel Sheppard does often, but it's pretty clear that John returned on the precise schedule in the hopes of getting fucked just as hard and good as last time, so, yeah.

This is precisely why he comes here—sometimes—and why he doesn't strike up a relationship any more: no fuss, no mess. No interpersonal stuff to consider. McKay, for all his focus on work, work, work, is all about a personal connection. Impossible to think of him as just a buddy, someone who's on his team, with whom he plays computer games; he's Rodney, and he's been Rodney to John for a long time. Christ, this is already complicated, enough that John thinks making a run for it is out of the question—Rodney would just follow him, and the idea of having this chat in his quarters or, Jesus, some hallway where people might overhear. John's not getting out of this so easily, and fuck that. John studies the dirty floor for a second or so, decides to finally lean back carefully against the outside wall of the freezer.

When John looks up again, Rodney is still staring at him, but John knows this expression. Rodney is already thinking, going over two dozen options per second. It's something John really likes about him: Even if the famous McKay mouth is running, his brain is, too, and it always comes up with a solution. This could be just another problem that's easily dealt with, possibly involving some special Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Don't Ever Mention It Again For Fuck's Sake policy. Of course, the thought of not doing this again is a bit of a let-down. Fucking is great stress relief, when it doesn't cause this kind of stress. For John it is, anyway.

"So, why come here, McKay?"

Rodney frowns, and one side of his mouth twists in familiar annoyance. Right here and right now, John isn't so amused by it. "What do you think, Sheppard? What could possibly appeal about sex that's not with one's right hand?"

"You could have a girlfriend—hell, a boyfriend. I know the Katie thing hurt, but there are others."

"Yes, and all of them are throwing themselves at me." It's not even Rodney's angry or frustrated tone, but somehow, the matter-of-fact version is even worse. "And may I just add that this whole line of reasoning would work a lot better if it didn't come from you."

Right. John has never once thought of Rodney as stupid, but he hasn't really credited Rodney with much insight into the human psyche either. Playing dumb usually works for John, though, so he does just that. "From me?"

"You, Mr. No Commitment." Rodney has crossed his arms and lifted his chin; it highlights his biceps nicely, the broad line of his jaw. John feels he would enjoy the view a hell of a lot more if he weren't having this conversation. "Even if—especially if—we take this new element into consideration, it's not like you're the greatest fan of steady relationships."

"Geez, McKay." It's not totally wrong, but it doesn't seem quite right, either. Unlike the Air Force, John has no problem with long-term partners—he just hates negotiations and all the earnest talk of feelings. Especially if he's not all that sure about these feelings in the first place. Now he's the one crossing his arms; now John pushes himself away from the wall to stand a little taller and meet Rodney's eyes. "It's not like I can run around proposing to guys."

Great; Rodney looks offended. "Oh, thanks for that reminder and the implication I keep pushing wedding rings at unsuspecting females all over Atlantis, Colonel."

Back to titles, John thinks, and feels like an ass. "Look, Rodney, I didn't mean anything by that." Nothing but the truth; he doesn't want to put down Rodney. Tease him, yeah, but only about shit like food and allergies and exercise where Rodney already does just fine whenever he stops fretting. John isn't going to fuck with Rodney's mind where it matters. All of this just proves the point: John can't do this kind of thing. He rubs a hand over his face; it still feels a little damp. High time for a shower and his bed. "Hey, it's late; let's just go our separate ways and leave it at that."

Rodney looks away for a moment and shrugs an unhappy little shrug. "Fine. To answer your earlier question: I'm busy, I'm tired, I don't have time or the energy to start the dating game again, no matter what the gender. If this isn't ideal—so far from it, in fact—then it's still better than never touching another human being."

How did they go from fucking to relationships to _touching_? Rodney not really being into anonymous fucks makes a lot of sense, though. Casual is something Rodney may wear but doesn't do. In fact, Rodney doesn't do anything half-way; John has long come to the conclusion he hasn't ever known anyone not just capable and brilliant but also concentrated. Downright dedicated. Even about that friendship thing. John remembers the mind-altering Ascension machine, Rodney's last wish, his imploring voice in John's ears. How his body broke down, trembling under John's hands. He'd been scared—John had been _so fucking scared_.

"Yeah," John says, and is startled about the sound of his own voice: quiet, almost wistful.

When Rodney's expression changes yet again, John knows Rodney has caught his tone, his assent. "You don't mind—actual contact? Touching?"

"Of course I don't; I—it's fine with me." It's just that John doesn't want to go another round of verbal sparring with Rodney McKay, with whom evasive tactics don't work all that well. Who's kinda blocking the door. "The only thing I really mind is discussing my sex life to death, McKay."

A moment of silence, but Rodney's face has the Hah, Wait For It! look that announces a new idea. "So we don't discuss it. Contrary to how this conversation has gone, I'm not actually keen on making you squirm. Except in all the interesting ways—" Rodney breaks off abruptly, eyes wide and round.

John can't help the wry grin, and suddenly, the fight-or-flight response isn't so strong any more. Not at all. "I didn't exactly mind these either." Impossible not to think of what they did a few minutes ago. And if John doesn't feel like giving up the sex it turns out he's had with Rodney, if Rodney doesn't feel the need to go over this again.... "Actually, I wouldn't mind."

"That's—good. Very." Rodney's smile is somewhat baffled but open in a way that makes John second-guess himself. Himself, not Rodney. "So, um. A next time? We've already got the all-night Terminator viewing with Ronon and Teyla scheduled, there's our chess evening in the mess hall, and I've got the huge aeroponics project with Radek coming up, but as soon as that's done...."

John takes in the determined set of Rodney's shoulders. Rodney is already _planning_ this. Rodney is doing all the work. He isn't forcing John to run and catch—well, catch, yes. But there are no hoops, so when John nods, the movement comes easy to him.

"And how about another venue?" Rodney asks.

John raises an eyebrow. "You mean, not here." Not here might mean a more—intimate place, and that's making him tense up a little again. What if Rodney suggests his room, John's, Rodney's? That's going a little too—far. Fast. Something like that.

"I simply mean an unused room with a real bed. And _heating_."

Huh. John thinks about it, knows he's biting his lips but doesn't care, not now. Because it's not hard at all to imagine what else Rodney means by that, it's just a little startling how appealing the thought is: Rodney naked, Rodney's big, capable hands on his also bare hips, Rodney's cock—yes, that works. That works for John, big time. "Deal."

"You know the guest quarters where we put up the Athosians back when we came? The one at the far end, with the triangular window?"

John does. "When?"

"Same time next week. Of course." And now, funny enough, it's Rodney's grin that's crooked, that makes John want to step forward, cross the distance between them.

And hey, he just might do that.

On Wednesday.


End file.
